


Rare/Crack Pairing Ficlet Challenge

by kylostahp (hawkeward)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, I'd like to apologize to George Lucas and also Jesus, M/M, prompt meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 06:36:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16989876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawkeward/pseuds/kylostahp
Summary: Ficlets and proto-ficlets from a prompt meme: "send me any two characters and I will describe the 100% serious fic I would (probably never) write about them."Please see chapter notes for individual ficlet warnings and tags.





	1. Dopheld Mitaka/Chewbacca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: xenophilia, probably edging into bestiality, masturbation, voyeurism, Kylo Ren/Armitage Hux mention

The senator has dropped by Hux’s office, as he is wont to do, and he and Hux are doing what they do best: fucking, loudly, in the next room over, as if Mitaka can’t hear them. And Hux cleared out the entire day’s schedule for this, so it’s not like Mitaka has anything to  _do,_  and he’s bored and horny and hasn’t had sex in longer than he wants to remember, and maybe it’s unprofessional to jerk off to the sounds of your boss bending a man over his desk on the other side of the cheap-ass door that doesn’t even shut properly, but screw it.

He’s just gotten a good rhythm going, leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed to hear better, when this giant, hairy, two-meter walking carpet of an alien comes barging in from the public corridor. (Spoiler: it’s Chewie. He tracked Ben down to yell at him for not calling his mom enough or something.) Mitaka doesn’t even have time to take his hand off his dick.

And this  _thing_  is just regarding him just like “uh  _huh_ , I see what’s going on here” and Mitaka should be wilting but instead he’s impossibly getting  _harder_  under the calculating, intelligent gaze of this beast. He can see its nose twitching and it can probably  _smell_  his arousal and shame and the activities in the next room, and it bares its teeth and huffs out this harsh sound like a laugh and Mitaka has to bite his lip against a moan. His hand starts moving tentatively again, but the creature just crosses the tiny reception area in barely two strides and grabs his wrist in one huge paw with a grip like a durasteel vise—and then closes the other around Mitaka’s dick, completely enveloping it in one warm, leathery palm. 

Mitaka can’t hold back the noises he’s making—bestial little whines and groans, more animal than human. His fingers are tangled in the creature’s fur and he feels small and breakable and like he’s going to be devoured alive, and when it lets out this low, resonant growl that rumbles through Mitaka’s entire body… he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

When he manages to open his eyes again, the alien catches his gaze like “we both know what you did, you sick fuck” and starts licking Mitaka’s come off its hand with a pink tongue darting between sharp, white teeth. Mitaka reaches out and tugs at the huge, furry arm, and the creature obligingly lets him bring its hand to his own mouth, tongue laving over the hot, coarse skin as he cleans it of his own mess. 

(And then, before he has fully recovered, Chewie just tosses him a jaunty little salute and barges right into the other room where Kylo and Hux are still fucking. Mitaka figures they can probably hear the indignant shrieks clear in the Outer Rim.)


	2. Jar Jar Binks/Padme Amidala

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: xenophilia, basically just what it says on the tin

Jar Jar doesn’t know much about humans, okay? Or even mammals in general. They have like… heat cycles, or something, right? Or… look, whatever. He’s not  _stupid_ , though—he knows females of any species tend to have needs beyond what they can satisfy alone, just like males. 

He had assumed the people always surrounding Padme could take care of things for her—her handmaidens (Because like… what else are they even for? Doing her hair? Gods, humans are so confusing.), or Ani, or  _someone._ But given the way Padme just gets increasingly flushed and irritated and always spoiling for a fight every time she’s outside the Senate Chamber,  _apparently fucking not._

Jar Jar may not be the hero she deserves, but Padme is his  _friend_ and he hates to see her suffer, so he and his meter-long tongue are damn well going to step up and take one for the team.


	3. Phasma/Maul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism

This isn’t a duty Phasma wants, but duty has never been about what she has  _wanted_. Hux is compromised—everyone knows it. And it’s her job to shore up the weakness, to be prepared for every eventuality.

It’s how she finds herself in a trash bar on a dirtball world so remote it doesn’t even have a name, removing her helmet to speak with a zabrak with creaking cybernetic legs and fading tattoos. He’s far older than he looks—she can tell by his voice and the way he holds himself, though the cane is clearly mostly for show—and she’s not sure if that’s a quirk of his species or a result of the power he holds. It’s his power that she needs.

“I want to know how to kill a Jedi,” she tells him. There is no preamble.

“You want to know how to  _break_  a Jedi,” he corrects, and smiles around sharp, yellowed teeth.

(The sex is pretty much entirely him watching while she touches herself, directing her hands and thoughts with his voice—power is passion but also control, it is standing tall but also knowing when to bend. These are things Kylo Ren will never know.)

(She will be there to break him when he falters.) 


	4. Owen Lars/Obi-Wan Kenobi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: masturbation, voyeurism, self-flagellation, flogging, caning, poorly-negotiated kink, facials, infertility mention

Jedi are good at one thing, and it’s being cryptic assholes to ordinary folk. Owen hates it. So  _of course_  one showed up out of the desert and told him Anakin Skywalker was dead, handed him Anakin’s son, and rode back off into the dusty sunset without explanation.  _Luke_  is a blessing—after they found out a couple years back that Beru can never… well, she adores him, and with the way her face lights up when she tells Owen what a wonderful uncle he’ll be, he almost believes her. So Luke is a blessing, but Owen is a practical man, and he would like an  _explanation_ , as well.

So one day he leaves Beru with the baby and heads out to the hut the Jedi has claimed for himself, but he doesn’t make it even as far as knocking on the door because he hears…  _sounds._  He peeks through the window, and it’s dark inside the hut but he can see—he can see the Jedi, stripped to the waist and on his knees in the dust, his soft back glowing livid with stripes from the many-tongued whip he holds in his hand. He hits himself again while Owen watches, transfixed, and the groan that escapes him lances straight between Owen’s legs. 

He jerks himself off right there, crouched under the window with his back pressed against the hut’s wall and his fist in his mouth, listening to the sharp slaps of the whip and the Jedi’s low, rough cries.

He goes back the next day like nothing happened, knocks properly and everything. The Jedi lets him in—his movements are stiff, pained. He wants to ask about Anakin, about Luke, demand all the explanations he needs, but the words die in his throat when the Jedi meets his eyes and Owen can see that  _he knows._  

What comes out of his mouth instead is, “I can help you.”

The Jedi looks at him. His russet beard, clearly once neatly-trimmed, is going scraggly. His eyes are shadowed, caution laid over bare vulnerability. He nods.

Owen doesn’t ask about Anakin, or Luke, or the war, or the rising Empire, or why the Jedi takes ( _needs_ ) penance this way. He beats him with the whip, or a strip of leather, or a thin, swishing cane—whatever the Jedi needs in order for silence to transform into moans and finally crescendo to screams. He goes back again and again, and the Jedi lets him in every time.

Sometimes the Jedi gets hard in his worn trousers, sometimes he doesn’t. He never asks to be touched, and Owen never quite has it in him to offer. He lets Owen finish himself off, though—waits for Owen to pump his cock and come in long white ropes over his welt-crossed back or across his tear-streaked face, then kneels silent and unmoving as Owen tucks himself back into his clothes and leaves. 

Owen goes home to Beru and buries his face in her hair, listens to her talk about her day, about Luke— _he’s growing up so fast, Owen, he’ll make us so proud one day._ He tries not to think about Jedi, and the broken man living out in the Dune Sea.

He never does get an explanation.


	5. Jar Jar Binks/C-3PO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: dubious consent, robophilia, facials, non-gendered droid ejaculate

There’s not a lot in a Tatooine slave’s home to occupy a curious gungan, but Jar Jar hasn’t seen all that many droids up close—especially not wiry, cobbled-together ones like C-3PO. There are lots of interesting nooks and crannies to poke his long fingers around in, and the droid isn’t able to do much to discourage him other than talk. It doesn’t even seem to mind too much, as long as Jar Jar doesn’t break anything. (Jar Jar  _never_  breaks anything. How rude of you to suggest that.)

He’s discovered a strange little backlit pad nestled away in the droid’s skeletal pelvis—it produces an interesting sound when he prods at it, like a kind of mechanical whine. He does it again a few times, one ear cocked to listen. Maybe it’s broken? Anakin would probably want to know if something about his droid is going wrong, so he should make sure.

He teases it rapidly, and from above him suddenly comes a panicked voice: “Master Jar Jar, I think I’m going to—! I’m—!”

C-3PO climaxes with an electronic shriek, and jets a load of viscous black oil all over Jar Jar’s face. Neither of them ever speaks of this again, and Jar Jar learns to keep his fingers to himself.


	6. Obi-Wan Kenobi/Sheev Palpatine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: manipulation, grooming

It is a simple plan: snare the master, and the apprentice will follow.

It is not, however, an  _easy_  plan: Obi-Wan Kenobi is firm, dedicated, clever, and cautious to the point of suspicion. Qui-Gon Jinn was not a conventional master by any means, and it shows—both in Kenobi’s unconventional aptitudes, and in his reactionary adherence to the precepts of the Order. The Council couldn’t have made a poorer choice to instruct the Chosen One.

But Palpatine did not get where he is by being unwise in the ways of men. And like all men, Kenobi  _wants_ —even if he does not know it, himself.

Kenobi wants to be chosen, so Palpatine takes an interest in him—asks after him in meetings with Master Windu, requests him by name for missions, sends congratulations at his achievements.  

Kenobi wants to be wise, so Palpatine listens to him—invites his counsel on matters both significant and trivial, engages his insights, soothes his concerns over Anakin’s training. 

Kenobi wants to be the ideal Jedi, so Palpatine lifts him up—makes him the soft-eyed, red-golden poster boy of the Republic, places him at his side in all the holonet broadcasts, tells him about seeing senators’ younglings playing at being “Master Obi-Wan” defeating the Sith and laughs when his face pinks and he ducks his head.

He only asks once, poised on the arm of a chair in the maroon shadows of the Chancellor’s office, “What do you want from me?” 

Palpatine looks up from the messages he was pretending to check, lets his eyes warm at how the setting sun gilds Kenobi’s hair and lines his face with fire—nothing is ever so beautiful as in the last moments before darkness takes it. “Is it so hard to believe I simply enjoy watching your rise?”

Kenobi bites his lip and looks away.

(When Kenobi is offered a seat on the Jedi Council, Palpatine finally strokes thin fingers through his hair, smiling as he unconsciously leans to chase the touch. He cups Kenobi’s face in his hands and runs a thumb over his bottom lip, feeling the shiver that echoes through the Jedi’s entire body at the sensation. “You’ve done so well,” he murmurs.)


	7. Phasma/Asajj Ventress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: masturbation, bondage/restraint fantasy

It is a risk to engage the target, but nothing came of Ren’s last three leads and they’re running out of time—they’ve watched the lone, aging woman squatting in an abandoned settlement for days, and while she clearly isn’t Skywalker, she may yet know something of use. Phasma weighs her options and makes the call: move to apprehend, non-lethal force.

They make their approach under cover of night, but it doesn’t help—the first two troops are dead before they can even raise their weapons, the next before they can bring them to bear. Phasma’s aim tracks the woman—she’s impossibly fast—and she fires, only to have the bolt ricochet off into the darkness, deflected by a blazing Jedi sword.

“Lightsaber!” She snaps the warning even as the next pair of troops is carved down, grabbing for her baton.

An invisible shove, hard as being hit by a landspeeder, knocks her back and to the ground. She skids several meters, armor shrieking as it scrapes over pavement, and then the Jedi woman is on her—she can’t weigh more than sixty kilos, but when she straddles Phasma’s middle it’s like being pinned by a bantha. Phasma twists one arm free and launches a punch, but a birdlike hand catches her wrist in mid-air with a grip that grinds the bones together.

The woman’s fingers expertly find the release catch under the lip of Phasma’s helmet, and she pulls it away. Her eyes widen slightly at Phasma’s exposed face.

“Expecting something else?” Phasma can’t quite suppress the smirking curl of her lip. She hasn’t been this helpless in years, and there’s enough adrenaline surging through her at the weight on her torso and the grip on her wrist to make her reckless. Not fear—she’s never been afraid—but excitement, anticipation, waiting for either the deathblow or the opening that will turn the tables.

The Jedi recovers quickly, and her brows arch, unimpressed. “Perhaps. You fight like a clone.”

Phasma’s jaw slackens at the insult, but the woman grips her chin to silence her before she can gather breath for an indignant reply.  _“Ut-ut,_  I meant no disrespect. It was always a pleasure to test myself against those  _bred_  for combat.”

Ah.  _Not_ a Jedi, then.

Without the filters of her helmet, Phasma can see that the tattoos tracing back from the woman’s temples and accenting the harsh lines of her mouth are not black, but a rich wine-purple made deeper by the contrast with her pale, age-roughened skin. Her shadowed eyes narrow as they search Phasma’s face, and Phasma can’t tell whether she likes what she finds.

She finds herself hoping that she does.

The woman stands abruptly, though the weight pressing Phasma into the duracrete and the grip immobilizing her wrist remain. Her slim form towers into the darkness, and for a moment Phasma feels very small. “Catch me if you can, girl. We’ll see just what kind of fight you provide.”

(It takes half an hour for the invisible bonds holding her to dissipate, by which time Phasma is equal parts pissed off, impatient, and embarrassingly horny. The first thing she does when she gets back to the shuttle is comm the  _Finalizer_ to report and request a deployment of more troops, the second is to shuck out of her armor and fuck herself on her fingers until she’s come three times, remembering the press of thin, white fingers around her wrist as she bites her lip until it bleeds.)


	8. Kylo Ren/Padme Amidala

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: incest, dubious consent, masturbation, blood, unreality

Meditate on Vader’s helmet asking it to show you “the power of darkness” enough times and eventually the Force will throw you a bone. Kylo finds himself occupying a… loose interpretation of the past, in which he  _is_ Anakin. This is potentially useful, since understanding Anakin’s path into darkness could help to clarify Kylo’s.

_But_ … Padme is the only thing there that Kylo can focus on. And his feelings are deeply mingled with the echoes of Anakin, so it’s this intense mixture of adoration and guilt and fear and  _oh goodness she’s not wearing a lot, is she_. Kylo is awed and horrified that he’s so turned on because this is  _her_ , this is Vader’s angel who should have been empress of the galaxy, but she’s so beautiful and he/Anakin wants her  _so badly_. Everything is soft and muted and moving slowly, and she’s moaning  _Anakin, please_  while she spreads her legs for him and he’s being inexorably drawn into her slick heat, deeper and deeper until she’s wrapped completely around him while he shakes with overstimulation—

And then she rolls them over so she’s on top and rides him bruisingly hard, telling him all the while what a terrible failure he is—how he left her to die, let the galaxy fall to ashes, lost their children to honorless murderers and thieves,  _failed her_. Their surroundings are shifting rapidly between her apartments on Coruscant, the Lake District on Naboo, the Jedi Council Chamber, the Tatooine desert during a sandstorm, Mustafar… but she keeps riding him, digging sharp nails into all his soft spaces until blood wells out under her fingers and floats, gravity-less, into the air. 

Padme screams his name when she comes, but he can’t tell if it’s  _Anakin_  or  _Kylo_  or  _Ben._  He snaps out of the vision achingly hard and with tears in his eyes.

(… and then he guiltily jerks off while Vader’s helmet JUDGES HIM INTENSELY.)


	9. Rey/Maz Kanata

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: none. Written pre-TLJ.

When Rey has had her fill of Luke Skywalker, she returns to Takodana.

Kylo Ren’s words— _you need a teacher_ —still burn uncomfortably in the back of her mind. Luke didn’t realize it, but he was the same.  _Teachers_ , she has found out, only want to possess you. To make you the same as them, whether that’s a monster or a broken old man. They don’t care who you are or what you might already know, if it’s different from what they want.

She’s never had a teacher for anything in her life. 

She returns to Takodana hoping to find some peace, a place to remember and think. It doesn’t occur to her that Maz might be there—the castle had been destroyed, after all. Maz must have moved on, like everyone does.

So it surprises her to find the ruins bustling with activity, several serviceable open-air structures sheltering patrons, and Maz herself in the thick of it all handing out drinks and advice in equal measure. She spots Rey immediately and rushes over, guiding her to a table and gently pressing a tumbler of something cool into her hand. “We’ll talk later, yes?” she says with a smile, reaching up to pat Rey’s shoulder before ducking back into the fray.

_Of course_  Maz knows that Rey needs some time to regain her balance, Rey thinks wryly. She’s grateful, just the same—just seeing Maz again is overwhelming, bringing back memories of Han, Finn, her desperate flight from Kylo Ren… her vision in the storage room. But it’s comforting, as well, seeing that things can be rebuilt. That life in the galaxy goes on.

Rey relaxes slowly, half-watching the other patrons as her mind slips into a meditative state. She can feel the tickle of life all around her—plant and animal, sentient and non-sentient—and the pulse of the Force moving through it. She scans the bar area lazily, just because she can, brushing against the minds of the beings jostling for drinks.

She’s not sure what she’s looking for, or if she’s looking for anything at all, until her attention lands on Maz.

She almost spills her drink, because Maz’s presence is like grabbing the end of a live capacitor node. She’s never felt anything like it—Luke Skywalker, even muted and nursing old wounds, had been a towering presence in the Force, but he shrinks into nothingness compared to Maz. Luke was like a single, sad voice, weaving a song high and low in the silence—Maz is a  _symphony,_ complicated beyond measure _._  Luke was black and white, a fine band of twilight-gray between them—Maz is a rainbow tapestry of color. 

Rey feels she could look at Maz in the Force forever, until planets died and suns went out, and never see the end of her. She wants nothing more than to sink into that presence, wrap herself in it, let it subsume her until it is all she knows—she wants it, she wants to  _be_ it. She can feel herself heating as she clutches her drink, flushing with excitement and yearning and a tinge of embarrassment at the foolishness of having thought  _Luke Skywalker_  could somehow be the beginning and end of the Jedi. 

_I am no Jedi,_  Maz had said.  _But I know the Force._

Perhaps Rey needs a teacher, after all.


	10. BB-8/K9 (Doctor Who)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: crossover (Doctor Who)

K9 is BB-8′s new friend. BB-8 likes its new friend a lot!

K9  _always_  wants to play Chase, even if BB-8 is on his way to another section of the base on Very Important Droid Business. BB-8 can roll very fast. K9 is fast too, but not as fast as BB-8—BB-8 can roll around and around K9 while K9 spins around and around to follow, until K9′s internal gyroscopes can’t keep up and it gets dizzy and makes a grating sound like a junked drive. 

Sometimes BB-8 lets K9 win at Chase, because then K9 picks it up with its magnetic gripper and shakes BB-8 back and forth until it squeals. BB-8 finds it very exciting, even if it’s sometimes afraid its circuits will come loose.

K9 is also very polite to BB-8′s friends, which is the best way to  _become_  one of BB-8′s friends. It calls both Poe and Finn “Master,” which BB-8 appreciates, and Rey “Mistress.” It calls General Organa “Mistress” too, even after being told she’s a general, which makes her roll her eyes but even C-3PO forgets sometimes so it’s okay.

BB-8 shows K9 its sparklighter attachment, the one its  _technically_  not supposed to have but Poe put in anyway. K9 shows BB-8 its  _built-in blaster._  BB-8 wants one, and Poe thinks it’s a great idea, but Finn vetoes it.

(Sometimes, BB-8 likes Poe better than Finn. But don’t tell Finn that.)

K9 likes playing dejarik with Chewie, and going on walks around the base with Finn. It will sometimes let Poe put his feet up on it after a long day, and it’s always happy to sit outside and watch the stars with Rey. 

But mostly, K9 is BB-8′s new friend, and BB-8 likes it a lot.


	11. Sheev Palpatine/Luke Skywalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: mpreg, non-consensual pregnancy, body horror, background major character death, stockholm syndrome

The Rebellion is defeated at Endor. Witnessing the deaths of so many—Wedge, Lando, Han,  _Leia—_ utterly crushes Luke, tears through him like so much shrapnel and rips out his heart and his will. He’s useless as an apprentice, barely even able to feel the Force, broken and unresponsive.

The Emperor keeps him for two reasons. The first: because Luke—trailing mutely at his heels, sitting pliant at the foot of his throne—is a highly effective leash on Vader, who will not move against him so long as the boy lives. The second: because even with his will broken, his body is intact. Strong in the Force.  _Ripe._

This is how Luke Skywalker becomes the carrier for the Imperial Heir.

Sith alchemy begins the process by which his flesh will produce a nucleus of dark power to house the Emperor when his own body inevitably fails. His stomach distends, off-color and tumorous. He is wracked with hunger, devouring nutrient paste and barely-cooked meat, blood running down his chin—but little bulk is added to his frame. Instead, his flesh goes slack and gray, his hair and bones brittle, his eyes dull. His skin is nearly translucent, always clammy with sweat from his constant fever—his veins stand out in a sickly black web, beneath.

Occasionally the Heir—the  _thing_  that grows within him—shifts, straining against the taut skin of his belly, clawing purple bruises from the inside. The Emperor runs a wizened hand over the swollen bulge to quiet it, petting and soothing until it stills and Luke’s screams slow to whimpering moans. Occasionally during these times he will stroke Luke’s hair, as well, whispering to him how good he is, how sweet and fertile—some part of Luke wants to shudder at that, but he’s too weak to do anything but accept both touch and praise.

By the time the Heir is ready to be born, he will have learned to  _crave_  them.


	12. Kylo Ren/Darth Vader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings/Tags: incest, masturbation

Vader rejected Obi-Wan and the Jedi for love of Padme, and then he rejected Palpatine and the Sith for love of Luke. It was not a return to the light—the light is self _less_ , demands utter denial of attachment—it was a redefinition of what he fought for, what desires he grasped the power of darkness to fulfill. The darkness is  _self_ ish, in that it allows you to have a self. And if you have no self, how can you love?

The love the light rejects is choosing one being over another—to love one person so fiercely, so desperately that you would burn the galaxy to preserve them—that is anathema. Ben Solo’s mother did not love him more than her Republic. Ben Solo’s father did not love him more than his freedom. Ben Solo’s uncle did not love him more than the memory of the Jedi.

What Kylo Ren wants, more than anything, is for someone to love him the way Darth Vader loved—darkly, selfishly, completely. 

What Kylo Ren wants is for Darth Vader to love him.

(He imagines Vader’s love would burn—like fire, like lava, like a star—consume and purify him in a crucible of tenderness. He imagines being touched reverently, like he is the most precious thing in the galaxy, and being used roughly, broken and remade stronger and purer a hundred times over. He imagines a hard grip on his throat and a soft one on his cock and comes over his own hand, choking on tears.)


End file.
